


i find shelter in this way

by ShirosRedKnight (SweetFanfics)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Supply Run, apocalypse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9702428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/ShirosRedKnight
Summary: “I still say you look like a pretentious ass with those sunglasses.”The sun’s reflection winks at him in Shiro’s aviators. Shiro himself pouts playfully at him, human hand touching the frame. “I thought you said I looked good in them?”“You can look goodandpretentious,” Keith retorts through his dry mouth, trying not to grin when Shiro makes a put-out expression. “Get in already if you’re done.”--A quick snapshot in a post-apocalyptic world where the Galra virus wiped most of humanity out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentines day i come bearing an apocalypse au I had no plans of writing but then I saw these fanarts I went "well fuck shit." I also low key blame the fact that TWD is back so my brain was in that post-apocalyptic zone. 
> 
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> 
> You should [RT the fanart](https://twitter.com/yuutayo/status/830921732714160128) and [reblog it as well](https://shirosredknight.tumblr.com/post/157184668620/yuutayo-the-ugly-post-apocalyptic-sheith-au-that) cuz it is bannnnging!
> 
> I did a quick beta of this myself so it's gonna have errors in it :x

When the world went to hell in a handbasket, communications was one of the first things to go. The infrastructure collapsed within 10 days. TV was the first medium to fall in three days. And that was still too late if you asked Keith. 

 

Too many people got to see the virus hit news anchors and hosts on live TV. The role TV had played in the spread of mass hysteria had been unparalleled. It had also been how Keith had first seen the effects of the Galra virus, the Purple Plague. He remembered sitting on Shiro’s couch in his apartment, feeling bile rising up his throat as the host’s face started to turn blue. 

 

Keith had thrown up into the plant Shiro kept next to the couch and hoarsely asked his boyfriend to change the channel. The electricity had gone out the next day so that was one less problem to deal with. But the memory still haunts Keith. 

 

The internet had been next. Gone from full to overflowing with information to eventually tapering away to near silence as more and more people either succumbed to the virus or lost access. But there’s still some people out there who have access. A couple of hundred by Pidge’s estimates.  The network is still out there, still  _ works _ . You just need all the hardware and electricity to do it. Both things are hard to come by now. 

 

Pidge is trying to figure out a way to turn the Internet into a communication tool again these days. “It’ll be faster than radios,” she’d said, tapping away furiously on her laptop. 

 

Which leaves behind radio. Radio communications and walkie talkies. There’s a couple of radio stations that are still playing the Top 40 songs from the day the alien virus attacked. Ghost radio as Keith likes to call it. Hunk had told him to not mention ghosts when they were in a building where so many people had died, flashlight whipping around as though he expected actual ghosts to come pouring out of the walls. 

 

Right now they’re passing through a country-road that’s picking up a distant station’s signals. Through the soft static, a woman’s smokey vocals croon away. There’s a gospel quality to the song thanks to the accompanying voices and soft piano. She sings about promises unfulfilled and how they’ve been washed away like sandcastles on a beach. 

 

It’s not the kind of song that fits on a warm sunny day like this. He rubs his thumb contemplatively against his bottom lip.  _ It’s the wrong song for this whole situation. _ A couple of flecks of ash drop from the burning cigarette he’s got in his hand.  _ What would be good songs for a world gone to hell anyways? _

 

He glances out the window to check if Shiro’s done taking a piss. His boyfriend stands in front of the treeline, shoulders and back shifting as he buckles his pants back up. Keith takes a long drag from his cigarette, holds the breath as he taps the ash into the overflowing ashtray before exhaling. The smoke bounces against the windshield, curling into itself the same way humans affected by the virus do. 

 

If Keith tries hard enough, he can almost see figures tucking themselves into a fetal position in the smoke. Clutching their stomach’s as the alien virus attacks their cells, breaking their immune system down and somehow turning it into a poison that makes people spew a purp-

 

Metal fingers knock against the driver-side window. The sharp tap flips Keith’s switch from relaxed to ‘ready for a fight’ in a heartbeat. He whips his head around, free hand already moving to grab Red, his trusty baseball bat with nails hammered into her, tucked between his seat and the door. 

 

But instead of any Galra bastards or unfriendly humans, Shiro grins at him. Gestures at Keith to roll his window down. Keith rolls his eyes but does so obediently. His cigarette burns away, ash dropping on Keith’s jeans. 

 

The window is a couple of inches open but it’s enough for his tart comment to pass to Shiro. “I still say you look like a pretentious ass with those sunglasses.”

 

The sun’s reflection winks at him in Shiro’s aviators. Shiro himself pouts playfully at him, human hand touching the frame. “I thought you said I looked good in them?”

 

“You can look good  _ and _ pretentious,” Keith retorts through his dry mouth, trying not to grin when Shiro makes a put-out expression. “Get in already if you’re done.”

 

Shiro gestures at the water bottle resting in the space between their seats. “I need to wash my hands.”

 

Keith’s not sure if he finds Shiro’s fastidiousness is a cute or annoying habit in this apocalyptic wasteland that is their lives now. But rather than pointing that out for what is probably the thousandth time, Keith places the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray before grabbing the bottle, muttering, “Can’t believe you still worry about this shit.”

 

But instead of handing it over to Shiro, Keith gestures for him to take a step back while opening the bottle with his other hand. Once Shiro has done so, Keith asks him to hold his hands out and tips the water into his waiting palms. The thin stream of water makes Shiro’s metallic Galra arm shine under the sun. 

 

The arm he’d gotten when he’d been kidnapped by the Galra during one of his test flights. The arm he’d tried to use as proof positive of the Galra’s existence. To show his superiors that aliens were coming and they didn’t have  _ any  _ good plans for them. That human’s future was at risk.

 

Naturally the blockheads hadn’t listened. Rather, they’d immediately kicked Shiro out. Honorable discharge within a week of being found. Chalked Shiro’s story up to a man suffering from PTSD so severe he’d concocted an elaborate story up to forget what  _ really _ happened during his disappearance.

 

But Keith had believed him. Keith had brought a pale-faced, worried Shiro back home. Had listened to him when he’d told his story, and asked, “How can I help?”

 

They never got much of a chance to do anything more than stock supplies up before the Galra invaded. 

 

_ Que sera sera _ .

 

Shiro flicks his hands to dry them off before walking around the truck to his side. As Keith tucks the bottle back into it’s usual spot, Shiro takes his seat again before grabbing the map folded on the dashboard. While his boyfriend spreads it open, Keith twists the key in the ignition. The engine splutters and protests but finally comes online. 

 

_ My kingdom for a fucking hoverbike _ , he thinks while turning back onto the road, grabbing the cigarette and taking another puff from it. But hoverbikes are about as rare as getting your hand on healthy farm animals to keep. Just about as expensive to barter for as well. 

 

(And if Keith tries to sneak a chicken or two away to try and get said hoverbike, he’s reasonably sure Hunk will kill him.)

 

“We should hit another town soon.”

 

“How soon?” Keith asks, left hand lazily guiding the car to avoid the abandoned car in the middle of the country road. His right hand rests on top of the steering wheel, more decorative than anything else. 

 

After he’s plucked the cigarette out of Keith’s right  hand and taken a drag from it, Shiro breathes out, “Another ten minutes. Man, these are  _ awful _ .”

 

Keith turns his face towards Shiro, lips parted. With his eyes still on the road, he says, “It’s all I could find on our last run. Gimme it back.”

 

Cool metal fingers kiss his lips when they return the cigarette to Keith. “I’ll keep an eye out for some cigarettes for you.” Shiro promises before frowning. “Where’s the list Pidge gave us?”

 

Stubbing the cigarette butt out, Keith opens the glove compartment. It’s empty except a circular CD case filled with Lance’s music, an extra pair of tattered fingerless gloves, a screwdriver, and a scrap of paper. He passes the last item onto Shiro before fumbling with the radio. 

 

There’s static, static, an automated message warning people to avoid going into the cities because the contamination rate is high, more static, some country music, and  _ more  _ static. Keith’s ready to pop one of the Lance’s CD’s in when he finally finds a station playing rock. 

 

_ This could be the soundtrack of the new world _ , Keith thinks while Shiro puts his boot up against the dashboard, frowning as he re-reads Pidge’s list. The person singing the song is angry, upset, ready to kick down whoever is in their path. The thought resonates deeply with him.

 

“I hope the next town has some kind of computer shop,” Shiro says worriedly, “This is all specialty stuff. Oh, turn here.”

 

With a casual shrug, Keith follows Shiro’s finger and takes the left turn. A long stretch of sun-dappled concrete lies ahead of them. For a moment he can forget they’re in the middle of a war against the Galra. Keith can almost pretend they’re out on a drive like a regular couple. Looking for a quiet place to enjoy a picnic.

 

_ Maybe not a picnic _ , Keith corrects himself as he swipes his hand across his sweaty brow. Despite the shady road, the inside of the car doesn’t get any cooler. Keith shoots the broken AC a woeful look and hates himself for never having paid enough attention to Mr. Gregory in Auto class.

 

As he repeatedly tugs on the collar of his sweaty muscle shirt to blow air over his heated body, Keith answers, “If we don’t find the stuff she needs here, we’ll go to the next town. We’ve got another couple of days before we gotta head back.”

 

Their supply runs take up to a week, the gang knows this. And they’ve got another three days to go. By Keith’s estimates, they can hit another town or two before they turn back around and head back home. 

 

He shoots Shiro a quick look and is mildly annoyed to note Shiro looks unflustered by the day’s heat. Keith can’t even see any sweat patches on Shiro’s  _ black  _ t-shirt. Shiro’s always run cold but this is ridiculous. The temperature has to be somewhere in the 90’s  _ easily _ but Shiro’s acting like it’s in the 60’s or some shit.

 

Keith’s sure the only reason Shiro’s rolling the window down is to enjoy the wind in his hair and not to cool himself  down. Sure enough, as he places his right down on the windowsill, Shiro turns his face delightedly into the warm wind, grinning as his his white fringe whips back into the darker strands of hair.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith can’t help but grumble helplessly at Shiro’s casual handsomeness.

 

Shiro grins back at him.

 

\--

 

They park the car on the edge of town, in the overgrown backyard of a house that’s got blue window shutters. As Keith checks the tightness of the tape wrapped around his right wrist, he wonders what kind of people used to live here before. And why in God’s name would someone paint their shutters that particular shade of  _ God awful  _ blue? 

 

On the other side of the car, Shiro straps a knife across his chest before pulling his hoodie up. He checks the sword attached to his belt before he wraps a long scrap of cloth around the lower part of his face. It’s part of their policy to mask their identities as much as possible. Better to be safe than sorry in this world.

 

While Keith does the same, holding Red between his knees, Shiro quickly rattles off a list of priority items. Food, medicine, weapons, Pidge’s tech junk, the list of miscellaneous items Coran had told them to keep an eye out for. 

 

Keith listens attentively, avoiding looking at Shiro because he knows if he looks at him, he’s going to get distracted by how much the sunglasses suit his boyfriend. It keeps giving Keith visions of Shiro in the past. Specifically of the only picture he’d grabbed of the man before they’d left their apartment. The framed picture now sits in their little room in the bunker, on Keith’s side of the bed.

 

In the picture, Shiro is wearing a bomber jacket and posing in front of his military jet with a cocky grin. He looks ready to take on the sky and win. It’s the Shiro he thought had been lost of him. But Keith’s relieved to see that that Shiro is still somewhere in his boyfriend.

 

Shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts before they turn melancholic, Keith hefts Red on his shoulder and nods towards the house.

 

“Wanna start from here and move towards the market?” He taps a finger against his forehead to remind Shiro to hide his white fringe.

 

A gloved hand immediately sweeps the hair under his hoodie. “Sounds good. I’ll go in first.”

 

Nodding, they take the first step forward together.

 

\--

 

Keith eyes the supplies loaded in the car trunk and makes a face. They’ve barely made a dent in the list of things they were supposed to find. The only bright spot today has been the stash of medicine they’d found in an old nursing home. There’s all the medicine they’d wanted and then some.

 

The food situation is a little more bleak. Keith’s glad they hadn’t depended on finding good out here and brought their own supplies because the shelves of  _ all  _ the stores and houses have been bare. They’ve found a single but huge can of chocolate pudding, some canned blueberries, and an expired can of Campbell soup. Keith had held that up for Shiro to see and asked, “You think I could dare Lance into trying this?”

 

“You could but Allura’d kill you for giving Lance food poisoning.”

 

Shiro’s sensible reply had Keith regretfully putting the can back in the empty pantry. 

 

He rubs the palm of his eye into his left eye trying to get whatever irritant that’s stuck there out. And he thinks about what else they need to do. 

 

_ Gonna wake up early tomorrow and go through the rest of the houses on the other side of town. Maybe they haven’t been stripped bare. Gotta check for hidden cabinets and shit. Maybe someone in this town has a bunker too. We could really luck out if we find something like that. They might even have batteries and a rad _ -

 

“Stop thinking so hard,” Shiro tells him, shoulders bumping against Keith as he closes the boot. 

 

Ignoring that, Keith instead eyes the taller man. There’s a smug edge to his grin. It reminds Keith of the old saying about cats and canaries. Forgetting about the supplies, he turns to  _ really  _ look at Shiro. 

 

He looks the same as he did earlier in the day. The only difference now is that he’s taken his aviators off, tucking them away carefully inside his long trench coat before tossing it into the car. And he’s smiling at Keith, his palms cool against Keith’s waist as he makes the shorter man face him.

 

With a curious tilt of the head, Keith asks, “Did you find something good?”

 

Shiro’s grin is immediate, infectious, and delighted. “You’ll have to see.”

 

“Oh?” Keith quirks an eyebrow up, allowing Shiro walk him back. Their boots cause the grass to swish and sway. It’s a secretive and intimate sound, the sound of the long blades of grass rubbing together. Keith finds his heartbeat speeding up once his back hits the car door.

 

Shiro traps him against the metal immediately, one arm pressing against the top of the car and the other still on Keith’s waist. Keith bites his bottom lip in eager anticipation, eyes lowering as he stares at Shiro’s mouth and waits. He won’t ask right now. Shiro’s taught him that sometimes waiting is better than immediately getting what he wants. 

 

Gentle fingers brush some sweaty hair off Keith’s neck. A shiver runs down Keith’s spine, falling like a meteor that crashes into the pit of his stomach. A shockwave of hot runs through him, followed immediately by a wave of cool when Shiro presses closer, a thigh between Keith’s legs. 

 

Keith parts his lips for a kiss but Shiro remains frustratingly out of reach. His words, “Get in the car,” are a brush of hot air on Keith’s lips. Keith’s hands slap against the cooling metal, looking for the stupid door handle. 

 

He decides to be a  _ little  _ impatient and selfish once he finds the handle and pulls the door open. As he takes two steps forward, door opening behind him, Keith pushes himself up to his toes and steals an off-center kiss from Shiro’s soft lips. He grins at the sharp inhale Shiro sucks in and asks, “Wanna get in first?”

 

Shiro’s answer is a searing kiss that turns Keith’s legs to jelly. He has to hold onto Shiro to stay upright, moaning into the kiss while Shiro guides him into the car. The leather seats are soft and cool under his back, the cracks scratching against his back arms. But Keith pays them no heed.

 

Rather, he focuses his attention entirely on Shiro, who watches him spread his legs. An easy and obvious seduction. Despite their relationship and all they’ve done, Keith still feeling a shameless thrill when he does this - displays how ready and eager he is for Shiro. 

 

He uses his teeth on his gloves, the sharp tearing noise of the Velcro like a match being ignited. Shiro’s there in the next instant, ripping his gloves off as well as he comes into the space Keith has made for him. The door slams shut behind him, the car locking with a quick chirp that they both ignore in favor of another hot kiss.

 

He doesn’t stay on his back for long. Shiro pushes him further until Keith’s back is pressed uncomfortably against the door. He arches his back, one hand brushing Shiro’s cheek while the other slides into the man’s hair.

 

“You looked so good today,” Keith finds himself admitting in a quick gasp when Shiro’s hands roughly tug Keith’s legs around his hips. “Kept thinking about how fuckable you looked with those glasses.”

 

“What about you? Wearing this...” Shiro’s mouth leaves Keith’s mouth, moving down to press sharp kisses around the graying collar of Keith’s muscle shirt. “I wanted to bend you over the hood and fuck you out in the open.”

 

Oh  _ God _ , that would be something wouldn’t it? Keith can picture is so  _ vividly _ . The hot car hood under his hands and chest, feeling overheated and ready to pass out by the combination of Shiro’s fucking and the sun beating down on him. He moans, clutching at Shiro’s hoodie. His hands release the worn material almost immediately, moving down to grab the hem and take it off so that he can get his hands on-

 

Keith blinks when he feels a familiar shape inside Shiro’s pockets. “Uh, Shiro?” 

 

Cool metallic fingers cup the back of his head. Shiro hums questioningly in answer to Keith’s breathless inquiry.

 

“Did you find  _ lube _ ?”

 

Wet teeth press against the skin on Keith’s neck. Keith can see Shiro’s grin in his mind. “Surprise,” he laughs before pulling back. The hickie Shiro’s left on his neck throbs as Keith pulls the lube out. It’s almost full, something that has Keith grinning as well. 

 

He shoots Shiro an amused grin, pressing the bottle against the other man’s smiling mouth. “Did you think you’d get lucky tonight?”

 

“Well,” Shiro drawls, pausing to kiss the bottle before moving past it to kiss Keith. It’s a quick little kiss that leaves Keith wanting. “I was  _ hoping _ we would. I mean, I didn’t want to  _ presume _ . But I thought that  _ because _ we’ve jerked each other off at least three times during this supply run and we forgot our lube back at camp...”

 

Keith’s laugh bounces around in the car painted dull orange thanks to the setting set. He pulls Shiro in by his hoodie strings, whispering, “Ass.”

 

“Punk,” Shiro murmurs back in the same fond voice, hands sliding down Keith’s waist. Keith sighs happily when those broad hands go to work on his belt, running his tongue delicately across Shiro’s teeth as his hands join in to help.

 

Between the two of them, they have Keith out of his jeans and underwear within minutes. It could have been faster but Keith doesn’t let Shiro pull out of his kiss. Something that makes Shiro shake with laughter. Keith’s grinning by the time he’s half naked, propped up thanks to one hand planted behind him on the seat. 

 

Shiro’s hardness strains against his jeans visibly, creating a shadow that makes Keith’s mouth water. His hands pull Keith in with a quick tug that makes Keith’s breath hitch. 

 

“You’re so  _ gorgeous _ ,” Shiro breathes out against the curve of Keith’s ear. He presses a kiss there, on Keith’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, down his throat. In reply, Keith melts. He closes his eyes, clings to Shiro and offers more of his neck for Shiro to mark up. 

 

All he’s got to wear is the muscle shirt that Shiro is pushing out of his way, the straps shoving down Keith’s shoulders in a way that’s  _ sure  _ to stretch the collar out. But Keith doesn’t care. He can’t care about how he’s going to carry proof of their relationship out in the open for days to come. If they come across someone else and Keith doesn’t have his shoulders covered by his scarf... there’ll be no misunderstanding what they’ve been up too.

 

But oh what does that  _ matter _ when Shiro’s pushing two lube-slick,  _ warm _ fingers into him? Keith’s palm pushes against the cool window, wide eyes moving away from the sight of the night sky to stare at Shiro instead. To watch him watch his fingers stretch Keith open. 

 

He pants and shakes and tells his body to relax and accept Shiro. Keith breathes when the fingers pull out, spreading his thighs a little wider in anticipation of what’s to come. His shoulders stick to the leather seats as Shiro kneels between his legs, steadily pushing in, in, in until all of Keith’s existence centers around the pleasurable burn of Shiro’s thick cock filling him. Keith groans when Shiro is balls deep in him, squirming to get closer and whining when he can’t.

 

“Easy, baby. Easy,” Shiro reassures him, hands running up and down Keith’s shaking thighs. But he  _ can’t _ . He doesn’t want  _ easy _ . Keith wants more. He wants everything  _ immediately _ . So he braces one foot against the floorboard and starts to move on his own to make Shiro understand. 

 

There isn’t enough room in the backseat of the car but they love that. It forces them to stick close. Keith loves the way Shiro will cling to him and how his strained breathing feels against his overheated skin. He loves how he can moan and whisper filthy things into Shiro’s ear. 

 

The car bounces with each lustful push and pull, springs squeaking in protest under Shiro’s knees and Keith’s shoulders. Keith throws his head back and moans at the sound of Shiro’s hips slapping into his. He can’t wait to be filled with Shiro’s come. It’s been so long. He’s missed it so much. He hopes Shiro will fill him up and then eat him out. 

 

Shiro’s fingers dig into Keith’s hips with a snarl. He jack hammers into Keith until he’s keening, flushed cock leaking over his abs. Like he wanted, Shiro comes in him with a choked cry. Keith moans happily, shoving a hand between them, a finger on either side of Shiro’s twitching, throbbing cock.

 

He plugs himself with those same two fingers when Shiro pulls out, trying to find his prostate. But all he manages to do is frustrate himself. Shiro thankfully is quick to whisper, “Touch yourself.” before replacing Keith’s fingers with his own. And with unerring accuracy as well. Shiro has Keith coming on himself within minutes, crying out in a high pitched voice that he’ll never think about because it’s  _ embarrassing  _ the kind of noises Shiro pulls out of him. 

 

Lying there with his lower body in Shiro’s lap, Keith stares unseeingly up at the car ceiling and waits for his soul to return. Shiro lies down on top of him, fully clothed still. His soft dick nudges against Keith’s crotch. Keith tries not to feel overwhelmed by the intimacy of that gentle touch. 

 

His chest rises and falls, body cooling as the sweat dries gradually. When he realizes his breathing is coming back to equilibrium, finally Keith breathes out, “ _ Fuck _ .”

 

Shiro tugs his shirt sleeves back up on his shoulders, finishing up with a kiss to Keith’s collarbone. “Want to put your pants back on?”

 

“Na. Grab the blanket.” A thin trickle of cum slides down between his cheeks. Keith wriggles uncomfortably before mumbling, “A some tissues.”

 

After he’s cleaned Keith up, Shiro grabs the blanket and rearranges them until they’re wrapped up together under the warm quilt. Outside, an owl hoots morosely from a tree. Keith yawns hard before nuzzling into the back of Shiro’s neck. “Gotta wake up early tomorrow.”

 

Shiro’s hands stop tracing the bony lines of Keith’s hands. Instead, they link their hands together and squeeze. “To check out the rest of the houses?”

 

“Mm. An’ drive to th’ next town.”

 

“Okay.” Shiro takes a deep breath in that makes his expanding rib cage press into Keith’s. There’s a few soft beeps as he sets up the alarm clock Hunk had made for them. Shiro tucks the slim device under the cushion they’ve been using as a pillow before murmuring, “Night.”

 

Keith exhales slowly, “Mm. Night.”


End file.
